Puzzles: An Alex Rider and CHERUB crossover
by Yassentherussianassasin
Summary: Alex is being hunted by an operative from 'Help Earth.' James is being hunted from a member of 'SCORPIA.' So it's only natural for the minds of MI6 and CHERUB to make them work together to protect each other. But, wherever the two spies go, trouble is soon to follow.
1. Chapter 1: Battles and Wars

Chapter 1: Alex

I was so close. So _friggin'_ close. Rung after rung I climbed, my arm muscles screaming. But I'd done this before. Heck, I did it last year, under much different circumstances. Still, it was basically the same thing.

"Come on, Alex!"

Trust Tom Harris to be supportive. Unlike everybody else. That's why he was my best friend, and I haven't been seeing much of those lately.

I was almost across. James Hale was waiting, holding out an arm. Right. I still had James. That was something to be thankful for, now wasn't it?

 _So… close…_

I swung back and forth, building up my momentum. Then, I jumped.

James grabbed my arm and pulled me across the bridge.

"Thanks," I muttered, as we ran across it to the pole.

"No problem," he said. "Can't have you failing this, now can we?"

"Then you'd be all lonely," I told him.

James shrugged. "Could be worse."

I knew he needed me up there with him. Tom had already failed on the steps. The steps! I wouldn't let him forget that, even though I didn't blame him: he usually was a rival to me when it came to sports, but today he must've just not been feeling right.

Now, it was just me, James, and two other boys from my geography class. Dave and Ross. They shouldn't be hard to beat. My real problem was James, actually. The last portion of the race was a puzzle, and he was rather good at those.

 _Come off it, Alex,_ I thought to myself. _You're good at those too. How many times have you figured out escape routes and secret passageways with MI6?_

Well, that was the problem. Dr. Grief hadn't asked me, 'Alex, if you can solve this puzzle, I'll let you skip off home,' before he almost had me dissected alive. And Winston Yu hadn't been the clue-and-riddle type before he was very close to having me operated on.

A whistle blew. "Fifteen minutes, boys!"

That was the P.E. teacher. Fifteen minutes? That was too short! I clenched my teeth, and followed James and the others across the bridge and toward the pole.

Dave pushed me aside, and started to slide down. Then came Ross. I jumped onto it before James could, and slid down with ease. I hurried to catch up with the other boys, and started to climb up the ladder.

The ladder lead to the platform with the puzzle written on a table. Ross had already read through it, but Dave just stood there and stared blankly at the letters. Could he read them? I doubted it.

 _A detective —_

Oh, no. I already knew how this would end.

 _A detective is investigating an illegal oil seller. They found a note at the scene of the crime, with these letters: 710 57735 34 5508 51 7718. There are three suspects: Bill, John, and Todd. Who is the oil seller?_

I read the riddle twice, then memorized the numbers. 710 57735 34 5508 51 7718. What did it mean?

James finally made it up the ladder. Had he had trouble going down the pole? I shook off the thought and went over the riddle again. An oil seller? That's the best they could come up with? I was hardly impressed. I looked for any words that could be switched or had double meanings. None that I could see. But what about the suspects' names? Bill, John, and Todd. Who did it?

The numbers were beginning to blur in my vision, taunting me. It sounded so _easy._ Why couldn't I crack this? Alex Rider, teen superspy, 14-year-old who took down generals, smugglers, and double-crossing charity owners, couldn't solve a riddle at a school competition! MI6 would have a field day with that one.

I tried to focus. The numbers were there for _some_ reason. I walked around the table, and looked at them upside down. Then, it was there, plain as day:

BILL IS BOSS HE SELLS OIL

"FINISHED!" I yelled down to the teachers below.

Ross glared at me, Dave didn't even look up, and James just shook his head.

The P.E. teacher climbed up the ladder. "You've finished, Alex?" he asked me.

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

"So who sold the oil?"

I smiled. "Bill did, sir."

The P.E. teacher stole a look at his clipboard. Then, a smile slowly started to creep onto his face. "Congratulations, Alex. You've won."

I smiled. "Thank you, sir."

Ross rolled his eyes. "That's _only_ because he cheated, sir!"

The teacher looked back at me. "Is this true?"

I shook my head. "Of course not, sir."

He turned back to Ross. "Don't be such a sore loser, Mr. McNeil."

Ross's face turned red, but he didn't say anything. I climbed down the ladder to meet Tom.

"That was brilliant, Al!" he said. "How'd you know?"

I told him what I'd done. James nodded. "That makes sense."

The bell rang, and we ran inside.

. . .

The spy set down his binoculars. "Congratulations, Alex," he said softly. "You've won the game. But the battle has just begun."


	2. Chapter 2: Death Wishes

**Um… hi. Sorry if that was rubbish…or if it was just super short…but I'm working on it! Anyways, I've hit a bit of a writer's block so don't mind my little BAD ideas here*awkward smile***

 **Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ALEX RIDER OR CHERUB (a girl can dream, though, can't she?)**

 **Enjoy!**

Chapter 2: James

"James?"

I looked up from my maths paper. Had the teach just asked me a question?

I stole a look at the board, and said, "Um… yes, it's _x._ Definitely."

The teacher, Mr. Bryan, stared at me. "That's right, James. But I was just wondering if you would close the window…"*

My face burning, I stood up and closed the window. The red shirts were running around the fields and tripping over themselves, then laughing about it afterward. _Oh, what a time to be alive._

I sat back down to challenge Algebra to a death match.

It won.

I was heading to the dojo after maths when a voice blared over the loudspeaker: "Can James Adams please come to my office at once?"

I recognized Zara Asker's voice. I breathed a breath of relief. She'd just saved me from Bruce kicking my butt for the fourth time this week. And it was Thursday.

I ran to Zara's office, practically breaking down her door when it came into view —

—and promptly knocking into Kerry, who was just beginning to open the door.

"Watch it!" she shouted, as she staggered backward.

"I didn't see you," I said. "So how was I supposed to _watch_ if I couldn't _see_ you—?"

"Ahem."

The cough came from Zara, who was sitting at her desk. She didn't look too happy, with baby food splattered all over her clothes and an unconvincing smile on her face.

"James, Kerry, could you please sit down?" she asked.

We took our seats. I finally got to take a look around the room, and saw that Kyle, Bruce, and Lauren were also here. My sister was rolling her eyes at me, muttering something that sounded very much like, "You prat."

"Now," Zara said, when we were finally settled, "I've got a mission for you five. But I'd hardly say it's ordinary. In fact, you can't tell anyone about it."

Big whoop. It was probably another drug dealer who'd gotten his pants in a twist and was going to burn down some building. And, knowing routine, he'd probably have a few kids who were in league with him and were probably-most-likely in on his plan too.

I sat back in my chair with my hands behind my head. Zara didn't look at me. She stared at Kerry, Lauren, Kyle, and Bruce in turn, until finally looking my way.

"James could end up dead."

So. I hadn't expected _that_ to happen.

The room was silent for about, say five whole minutes, until finally Kerry spoke up.

"What… what do you mean?" she asked, her voice in barely more than a whisper.

"James isn't dead!" Bruce said, almost shouting, in sharp contrast to Kerry's comment.

Zara shook her head. "Not yet, he isn't."

Why were they talking about me like I wasn't there? I opened my mouth to say something, but Lauren beat me to it.

"It's happening earlier than usual?" she asked, seemingly innocently confused. "I would've thought he would've had the sense to survive at least _two more years—"_

"Well aren't you little rays of sunshine!" I yelled heartily.

Everyone else jumped, like they'd forgotten I was sitting there. I huffed. I did _not_ like to be forgotten.

"I'm obviously not dead," I said, waving a hand in front of my face. "So can you _please_ tell me when and how that is gonna change? A guy would sure like to know his death day."

"Are you sure about that?" Kyle said.

"Whatever," I dismissed, flapping my hand at him. I turned to our mission controller. "Zara, can you tell me why I'm going to die on this mission?"

Zara, for once, seemed at a loss for words. "James, it's… it's a little hard to explain," she said. "But, I guess I'll let the file do it for you."

And, just like any other mission, she handed us the file. Everyone stared at me as I opened it, and I snapped my head up.

"What, it's not a bomb!" I told them, angry that they thought I couldn't take care of myself. "Wouldn't it have a WARNING: FRAGILE sign on it?"

Okay, so maybe the last part wasn't true. But I wasn't an idiot! I doubted the slim file could even hold a pencil, let alone a nuclear device.

 _**CLASSIFIED**_

 _MISSION BRIEFING FOR JAMES ADAMS, KERRY CHANG, KYLE BLUEMAN, BRUCE NORRIS, AND LAUREN ADAMS_

 _DO NOT COPY OR MAKE NOTES_

 _This mission has been classified as HIGH RISK. CHERUB operatives are reminded that they have the right to refuse the mission if they wish and are able to remove themselves at any time._

 _HELP EARTH_

 _Help Earth is an organization that has been previously funded by the religious cult, The Survivors. But they are very capable of being dangerous on their own, having been known to kill 200 oil company executives and have completed many other dangerous feats. It aims to 'bring an end to environmental carnage wreaked on our planet by global corporations and politicians who support them.'** Help Earth is extremely dangerous and has killed hundreds of people since they had surfaced in 2003._

 _SCORPIA_

 _SCORPIA is named after it's branches of expertise: Sabotage, Corruption, Intelligence and Assassination. Quite simply, SCORPIA is a terrorist organization that had put its name to many attacks including one focused on bringing the British and American government to their knees. Until being crushed by a hot air balloon, Julia Charlotte Glennis Rothman had been in charge of the operation, dubbed Invisible Sword. However, Invisible Sword had been thwarted by a celebrated MI6 operative and said operative had caused Rothman's death._

 _TARGET_

 _Since the incident of Invisible Sword, SCORPIA executives have been scrabbling for another chance at victory. They have teamed up with the executives of Help Earth, and are hunting down who have foiled their plans in the past. That includes the MI6 operative responsible for Rothman's death, and CHERUB operative James Adams._

 _THE MISSION_

 _The mission assigned to the five CHERUBs is to protect James Adams at all costs, so they will be going undercover at Brookland School in London to help secure the safety of James and the MI6 operative. The CHERUBs' aliases are as follows:_

 _LAUREN: Lauren Winchester; (age the same); blood sibling of James and Bruce_

 _BRUCE: Bruce Winchester; (age the same); blood sibling of James and Lauren_

 _KYLE: Kyle Winchester; (age the same); adoptive sibling of James, Bruce, Lauren, and Kerry_

 _KERRY: Kerry Winchester; age moved up one year; adoptive sibling of James, Bruce, Lauren, and Kyle_

 _JAMES: James Winchester; age moved up one year; blood sibling of Bruce and Lauren_

 _Mission controller: Zara Asker. Zara will be posing as the CHERUBs' mother._

I set down the mission file. _Whew._ As usual, it was a whole lot of knowledge to cram into my brain before the mission. But this one I actually had to _pay attention_ to—this could be my death sentence.

And everybody else in the room knew it, too. They set down their files and stared at me. Probably to see what my reaction was. But I was determined to be indifferent.

I put my hands behind my head again and leaned back in my chair. "Okay, cool, cool… so I just have to be careful not to get killed by two groups of whack jobs working together?" I tried to say it in the nonchalant, carefree way that only I could master, but even I couldn't make dark propaganda sound like nothing.

Kerry shook her head, one hand on her chin. "James… this is serious."

I looked at Zara. She nodded. "Kerry's right, James. This could… this could cost you your life."

I stared at her. "Well, then no pressure."

Lauren rolled her eyes. "James, shut up so Zara can tell us more about the mission!"

I whirled towards her. "It's not _you_ who's going to die!"

Zara put her hand on my shoulder. "James, we're just taking precautions. You're not going to die."

I looked up at her. "But you just said—"

"Shut _up!"_

I put my hands up in surrender and Lauren asked Zara more information about the mission.

"You'll be going to Brookland for awhile," Zara told us. "You've got to blend in—Help Earth and SCORPIA could have always stationed someone there."

"Who _is_ SCORPIA, anyway?" Bruce asked. "I mean, they can't be worse than Help Earth, can they?"

Zara shook her head. "On the contrary, Bruce," she said, "SCORPIA is at the top of the terrorist organization list."

"There's a terrorist organization list?" Kyle blurted.

"Some people say they're like the Microsoft of terrorism," Zara answered, "but, compared to SCORPIA, Microsoft is small-time."

I whistled. "Dang, these people get around, now don't they?" I got a couple of award-winning glares from that one. But, really, I didn't see why SCORPIA would get hooked up with something—when compared to it, I guess—as low-quality as Help Earth. And why did they especially want _me_? I _helped_ bring them down a couple times, sure, but it wasn't _entirely_ my fault. Shouldn't Dana be the one being hunted? She stopped their whole plot when it was us against the Survivors! All I was doing at that time was stomping around in a sewer.

And Kyle, Kerry, and Bruce all have done more dangerous missions than me. They needed to be wiped out more than I did. I put my hand on my forehead. I was so confused.

"So… tell me _why_ it's just me endangering my life again?"

"Don't think you're so special, James, remember _we're_ going on this mission too," Lauren said sullenly.

"But Zara said that I—"

"She meant us collectively." Lauren said, sounding sure of herself. "As in, you might get killed on this mission because it's so dangerous. Right?"

We all paused to look at Zara.

Silently, she shook her head.

"Wha…" Lauren didn't look like she could process the answer correctly. "Zara… what do you mean?"

"I mean…" Zara sighed. "I mean that James—could die on this mission. If Help Earth and SCORPIA catch him."

"So, they just don't catch me, then," I said. "There we go, case closed, we can go to back to our normal day."

Kerry looked at me searchingly. "'Normal day' means classes and homework, James. Are you okay?"

I scratched the back of my neck. "Yep, totally fine. But… I guess I would be better if I knew how to _not die_ in the next couple of weeks!"

Zara put her other hand on my other shoulder, and said my name softly. "James."

I jerked under the touch, and looked up at her. "I…" What was I supposed to say? _I… don't want to die? I… want to prove these people wrong? I… am really confused because you're talking to me like it's the last time you ever will?_

"James," Zara said quietly, squeezing my shoulders, "would you like to go up to your room?"

I wanted to glare at her with a look that would melt the sun. I wanted to scream in her face. I wanted to get up and kick the chair until it clattered across the room. I wanted to do a lot of things, but instead I stood up, my face burning, and stalked out the door. I faced everyone in the doorway.

"Bloody 'ell," I said through bared teeth. Then, I slammed the door and ran to my room.

. . .

There was a muffled sound of a window breaking. I went over to my window, but no glass had shattered. I scratched the back of my neck. What the…?

All of the wind was knocked out of me as I was slammed to the ground. I felt a force so strong brought down on my nose that I thought it would break it. Blood trickled into my mouth, creating a metallic taste on my tongue. _Get up, Adams,_ I thought angrily. _You're better than this! Take this punk down!_ But somehow I knew it wasn't any punk. CHERUB headquarters was harder to get into than most military bases. In fact, it _was_ a military base, but for much smaller soldiers.

I groaned as I tried to sit up. I rubbed my eyes, my vision slightly blurred. "Show yourself!" I yelled, spitting blood from my mouth. "Come on! I want to see who broke my nose!"

There was a soft sound of feet on the carpet. I craned my neck to try to see who it was.

"Oh, Mr. Adams," an antagonistic voice purred, "you're going to have to try harder than that."

Still, I couldn't see anybody. It enraged me. Sure, a lot of things did these days, but being unable to see my opponent was something I just couldn't take. It was cowardice.

"You coward," I snarled. "Punching a kid in the nose and then hiding behind a wall? Doesn't sound very menacing to me."

There was soft and maniacal laughter. "But it _looks_ very menacing when said kid is sitting in a pool of his own blood."

A glint of light, and a knife appeared by my throat. "Look down at your boots, Mr. Adams," a voice whispered in my ear.

Horrified to think of what I would find, I looked down. Blood was pouring out of my legs. Both of them. I swore. How could I let this happen? How could I not _feel_ this happen?

"Seeing as you won't be receiving any medical attention," the voice drawled, "I suggest you come with me quickly—" there was the sound of the hem of my trousers being ripped into strips "—and quietly—" more strips "—and without any disobedience because I have a _lot_ of tricks up my sleeve."

I coughed, and squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, the blood on my legs was swimming in front of me. "Such a—" _cough_ "—funny guy you are. I never really thought being kidnapped—" _cough_ "—would be like this."

There was a moment of silence. Then:

"How do you mean?"

I smiled grimly, pleased to make the man's composure slip. "Well, I mean, I thought it would've been done by—" _cough, cough_ "—er, professionals, you know. The guys with the balaclavas and the machine guns and the gruff voices? Ring a bell?"

There was a hearty laugh from the mysterious man. "You must be talking about my associates. Now _that's_ someone you can talk to if you're interested in being held hostage by that field."

"Really?" I asked, grimacing at the pain in my legs. Why was there so much _blood?_ "And who _are_ your associates, may I ask? Actually, I take that back. You already know what kind of people they are if you just look in the first three letters."

The man growled. "You're a nasty little bugger, aren't you?" I felt arms, strong arms, lift me up off the ground and into a carrying position. "The CHERUBs trained you up well, didn't they?"

I rolled my eyes. "You can bet. They _also_ taught me to kick your—"

A black blindfold was put around my eyes. "That's enough, Mr. Adams," the man said. "I've already gotten the information I need. You didn't deny you were working with the CHERUBs."

I scoffed, my ribs making me regret it almost at once. "You know what, sorry—I'm actually _not_ with the CHERUBs, because why else would I be in their _secret headquarters?_ Nah, I'm just visiting. I'm a Texas native." I switched to a false Texan accent. "So, how are y'all goin to rustle me up? I 'spect yous-a-goin to throw me in one of them vans?"

"Oh, yes," the man answered. "One of them vans indeed."

Against my better judgement, a chill went up my spine. The way the dude had said it made it feel like a chilling warning.

I suddenly didn't like the thought of being thrown into one of them vans.

"The question still remains," the man continued, "of transporting you with no risks at all being handled. What if you made a noise and busted us all? We wouldn't want that to happen, Mr. Adams, now would we?"

As best as I could in the man's arms, I shook my head. "No sirree."

"So," the man said carelessly, "I think you would agree with me with my decision."

"What deci—" I stopped as I felt the horribly familiar feeling of a syringe being inserted into my arm.

"Oh," I said weakly. "That one."

The man laughed softly and maniacally again. "Don't you worry James. We'll take good care of you."

 **So… it's currently 8:57 (although probably after I'm done writing this, it'll be 9:00) and I'm just chilling with no homework to worry about. Woo-hoo! Can't say the same about James, though. *fails in trying to hide mischievous smile* But hey! I got the chapter in!**

 **Anyways, I want to say a couple of things from the chapter that might be important:**

 ***That's actually from the first Alex Rider book,** _ **Stormbreaker.**_ **Or a variation of it, anyway. Look, I know James is really good at maths, and he probably WOULD win a battle against Algebra if it comes to that, but don't kill me, I think it'll be alright if James has an off day once in a while.**

 ****That excerpt is taken from the 'HELP EARTH' section of the beginning of** _ **Divine Madness,**_ **so props to RM there. In truth, I haven't read ALL of the CHERUB books and am only on Man vs. Beast (working on it, don't choo worry) and I haven't got much to tell about HE. So... you see where I'm coming from. Also, with the whole "compared to SCORPIA, Microsoft is small-time" thing, that's from the novel—you guessed it—** _ **SCORPIA**_ **, in the earlier chapters when it's first introduced. I'm trying to make most characters sound the same, and if I'm utterly failing, don't hesitate to tell me!**

 **R &R, please! Constructive criticism encouraged! **


	3. Chapter 3: Really Sucks to be Punctual

**Hi! Lil' cliffhanger, right? Hehe. Sorry not sorry. Also, I've had a couple of chapters all stored up for you guys, but I love to keep the suspense going. Isn't that what writers do?**

 **Disclaimer: CHERUB and Alex Rider DO NOT belong to me. Do I LOOK like Anthony or Robert to you? :)**

Chapter 3: Alex

I almost made it to the top of the stairs when Jack called out my name.

"Alex! Homework!"

I swore. Of course. I trudged back downstairs and collected my maths book and a pencil, then hurried back upstairs. As soon as I slammed the door, I called Tom on my mobile.

"What's up?" my friend asked from the other side of the line.

"You know what Mr. Aaron gave us for maths?" I said.

"Um, page twenty-two," Tom said. "Or thirty-two. You know what, just do both. You'll get extra credit for one of them."

"Thanks, mate," I replied. I searched for page twenty-two and tried to focus on the numbers on the page. After a few moments, I spoke into the mobile.

"Tom?"

"Al?"

"You didn't… see anything strange after P.E., did you?"

"What do you mean?"

I bit my lip. This was going to be interesting. "I mean, before we got back into school. Did you… see a guy by a window?"

"A guy by a window?" Tom asked incredulously. "That sounds a bit vague, Alex. There are tons of guys who were probably by the window—it was P.E.!"

"Just checking," Alex said.

Tom paused. "This… this isn't about _you-know-what,_ is it?"

"No," I said firmly, not wanting him to talk about MI6 over the mobile. "It was nothing, probably. Just a trick of the light, I suppose."

"With you, it's never 'just a trick of the light,'" Tom said truthfully.

I had to agree with him. The silver scorpion on a boat in Venice wasn't _just a trick of the light._ Damian Cray spinning on a trolley to his death wasn't _just a trick of the light._ General Sarov shooting himself wasn't _just a trick of the light._ If anything _was_ 'just a trick of the light,' I'd kick myself.

"Fine," I said. "I'll talk to you about it tomorrow."

"Okay."

There was a pause. "And Alex?"

"Yeah, Tom?"

"Ross McNeil's really pissed at you."

"So?"

"He'll get one of his buddies and beat you senseless."

I laughed. "I'll just kick him and tell him what a pain in the arse he is."

"Right," Tom said. "I look forward to hearing his voice sound higher for a few days."

I snickered, and hung up. I finished my maths homework, then went down to the sitting room with Jack.

"How was school?" my housekeeper asked.

I shrugged. "Fine," I said. "But…" I hesitated, wondering if I should go on. Jack looked back at me with curiosity. I sighed. "I saw a… man. In the window. He looked…"

"Shady? Suspicious?" Jack supplied.

"Sketchy, yes," I nodded. "I just… I dunno."

"Was he…" Jack looked like she didn't know what to say. "Was he Scorpia?"

I stopped. I didn't even think about that. "No. No, they think I'm dead. Right?"

Jack shrugged. "I just don't know, Alex."

I sighed, then got up to get a snack. Scorpia _did_ think I was dead, didn't they? Did they know that the sniper had failed? Had the sniper left before I was rushed to St. Dominic's? Were they ever going to leave me alone?

I knew the answer to that one. _Scorpia never forgot. Scorpia never forgave._ It was simple. They wouldn't rest until they saw my unmoving corpse in a casket.

With that happy visual, I grabbed a packet of crisps from a cabinet and ate them at the table.

A few minutes later, my mobile buzzed. It was Tom. He told me to meet him at the first intersection. I yelled to Jack that I was going out, grabbed my bike, and headed down the street.

He was there, checking his watch anxiously. I dumped my bike on the ground, and went over to him. Tom was never this anxious.

"What's wrong?" I asked him. "Did… did something happen? With the man at the window?"

Tom shook his head. "No," he said. His voice sounded choked. He cleared his throat, and said in a more firmer tone, "No. It's just… my mum and dad are fighting again. Mum threw her hairdryer at Dad and he tripped and fell against the wall and he isn't moving."

I stopped, then slung my arm around his shoulder and squeezed. Tom's parents had been at each other's throats for a while now, but it hadn't gotten this bad in a long time.

"You can stay at my place for a bit," I told him. "Until your dad and mum get better."

But I knew they weren't going to get better any time soon, if ever. They needed a miracle to save their relationship. I took a deep breath.

"You can sleep in my room with me," I said. "It'll be okay. Jack loves having you over."

Tom shook his head, though. "It's… fine. I'm fine. I can still stay at my house. Or I'll stay with Jerry. I can't do this to you, Alex. How many times you've let me stay—"

"And I love it," I cut him off. "Tom, you're my best friend. I want to make sure you're alright."

But Tom kept shaking his head. "No. I can't do that. If… if you're my best friend, Alex, let me stay with my brother. Let me see for myself that it's going to be okay."

I stopped. I nodded. That was what Tom needed. He needed that reassurance that things were going to turn out fine. He needed to see the real flesh-in-blood proof and evidence that the world wasn't crashing down on him. And I couldn't give him that by letting him stay with me.

"You're absolutely right, Tom," I said. "You don't have to stay at my house. Go to Jerry's. And you'll be okay. Call me when you get there, because I want to know if you're safe."

"Yes Mother," Tom chuckled quietly.

I knew I could make him laugh. Tom took out his mobile and said, "I'll call Jerry." He took his bike, then faced me.

"Thanks, Alex," he said quietly.

"No problem," I said. I gave him the two-fingered salute we always did when we scored a goal during a football match. He saluted back, then pedaled off.

A few minutes later, I sped back to my house. I threw open the door, and Jack called out, "What happened?"

"Tom," I told her. "His parents are having a row again."

Jack came into the kitchen and nodded. "Oh. Is he… going to be okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "He's staying at his brother's until things blow over. Shouldn't be too bad."

"Did you tell him—?"

"That he could stay with us, yeah, but he said no. Thought it was best that he saw things turn out for himself."

Jack nodded again, then went to make dinner.

. . .

The spy saw the target's eyes close at exactly ten thirty-one P.M. _Punctual,_ he thought sagely. _Let's see how on-time he is with his date with Death._

He chuckled.

All of a sudden, the boy's eyes flew open. The spy hesitated. He didn't stop; his blood didn't run cold; he didn't feel scared in any way. He was a professional. Things were going to go his way. It was as simple as that.

Sure enough, the boy ran to his desk to flip open his maths book. He cursed, slammed the book closed, and stumbled back into bed. When he drifted off to sleep again, the spy flicked a speck of dust from the railing he was leaning on. Of course. It was all going according to plan.

He waited for approximately fifty-two seconds before he made his move. Catlike, he hopped from the railing and slid down the roof shutters. He climbed noiselessly down to face the boy's window. Alex was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly. But the spy wasn't taking any chances. Expertly, he broke the lock on the window and slipped inside the boy's bedroom.

It wasn't anything to be proud of: a simple room with football posters on the walls and a few books and papers strewn across a desk. The spy picked up a paper with his gloved hands and traced over the words.

NAME: ALEXANDER JONATHAN RIDER

END OF TERM REPORT

"Ha," the spy whispered. Mr. Rider wasn't particularly favored by his teachers, it showed. The spy tisked and set the paper down.

Slowly, he made his way over to Alex's bedside. The spy could see every detail on his face, every vein pulsing. He could even hear his soft heartbeat.

Then, the spy slowly drew back the covers and scooped him into his arms. Alex shuddered, then resumed his peaceful sleep.

The spy climbed out of the window, closed and locked it behind him, and made his way down to the pavement below. He took care not to wake the sleeping fourteen-year-old in his arms as he set off at a brisk pace down the street and to a waiting van.

The van was white, all but for a red cross painted on the front. It looked like a standard ambulance, and the spy opened the back doors with one hand to reveal a gurney bolted to the van floor. Carefully, the spy set Alex down onto the gurney and strapped him to it with thick bands around his wrists, stomach, and ankles. The spy took a plastic cup filled with a clear liquid, then held it to the boy's lips and tilted his chin back to make him drink it. Making sure he didn't choke, the spy set the cup down on a table and threw a blanket over the sleeping figure.

The spy crouched down to Alex's ear and stroked his hair, whispering, " _Scorpia never forgot. Scorpia never forgave."_

 **Ooohhhhh, spook-ay, right? I know, I know, before you say anything—I know Alex isn't normally the touchy-feely type as it showed with his conversation with Tom, but I just kinda felt like he needed to be human at SOME points, and Tom's usually an exception. Also, I don't really have a time set up for this, but it's sometime after he got his bullet wound—but before Ark Angel? Can that be put there somehow? Eh. I don't care. Wherever you guys reckon it should be.**

 **AND—I'm trying to British-ize it as much as I can. I'm having some fun with this, though. But don't hesitate to tell me what I messed up on! Next chapter's a lil' visit with our old friend James!**


	4. The Evil Lauren Twin Hates Me (A Lot)

**I'm on a roll with this right now. Hope you guys enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I DON'T own CHERUB or Alex Rider. No copyright to see here…**

Chapter 4: James

When I woke up, I was lying on the floor. My legs were propped against a wall, so my back was on the ground and my feet were in the air. Splendid. I tried to move my legs, but they seemed to be locked in place. I lifted my back off the floor and tried sitting up that way. It didn't work.

I swore. How had I gotten like this? The last thing I remembered was the strange man… and the syringe. He'd almost broken my nose and cut up my legs. That was it—my legs. Was he… fixing them, somehow? Were they okay now? I tried to shift my foot, or wiggle my toes. They seemed numb and cold. Had he given me some kind of drug?

Then, I heard a squeal. "You're awake!"

There was the sound of fast footsteps, and a person walked into my line of vision. Mind you, it wasn't very much, as I could only see upside down. But it was definitely a girl. She had long blonde hair, and slightly resembled Lauren, although I shuddered to think about that. Lauren, being anything like this girl? She must be in league with my captor, that man. My sister would never do this to me.

The Lauren look-alike stepped closer. "Sorry about that, we just didn't expect… some serums work less than others, I suppose…"

"Great, that's fantastic," I said to her. "Could you maybe-so-possibly get me _down_?"

The girl chuckled, a high girlish sound that got on my nerves. "I'm afraid I can't, James. You need to be there to get your legs better." She crouched down to my eye-level, and tapped my nose. "Don't you want things _all better?"_

I made a growling noise in my throat.

The girl straightened. "I thought we were going to have to tie you up, James." She paused. "You _are_ James, right? James Adams? CHERUB agent?"

I saw this as an opportunity. This girl was obviously an amateur at kidnapping. "No, actually. You've got the wrong guy. My name's Viv Carter." Viv Carter? How could I be so _stupid?_ Viv was with the AFA (Animal Freedom Army), and was currently in jail. If this girl knew who he was, I would be in deep trouble.

The girl tossed her hair behind her shoulder and gave me a dazzling smile. "Viv Carter, eh? You're sure you're not the cop killer he kept going on about?"

My stomach dropped. 'Cop killer' was Viv's nickname for me after I almost murdered a policeman with an explosive. It was an _accident_ , I assure you, but what had been done was done—and, frankly, it had gotten me closer to the animal liberationalist.

"I… don't know what you're talking about," I told her. "I didn't kill any cops."

"You're little buddy did," the girl said, her smile patronizing. "Remember him? Tall and blonde. Strong. Real conceited. Said his name was James Wilson."

"Then why do you keep calling me 'James Adams' if you think I'm James Wilson?" I asked, trying to make air quotes with my fingers. Whether she saw the air quotes or knew what they meant—seeing as I was upside down—I didn't know, but she kept smiling.

"Because James _Wilson_ was a veggie who lived in a cottage with a guy who was famous among the animal liberationists," the girl said, stressing every time she used a past-tense word. "But James _Adams_ lives at a CHERUB campus with a bunch of 'kid spies,' and frankly eats a lot more meat than he should."

Crap. I was cornered. "Well, fine," I said haughtily. "But you didn't have to be so _rude_ about it. I can eat as much meat as I want."

The girl rolled her eyes. "James Adams, age fifteen, formerly known as James Choke, mother killed due to overdose and stepfather Ron in deep dislike of you, sister age eleven named Lauren Adams, formerly known as Lauren Choke. Would you like me to go on?"

I scoffed. "I know enough about myself, thanks. And apparently, so do you. Now, since we're exchanging deeply personal information here, can you at least tell me your name?"

The girl tilted her head to the side for a moment, as if in deep thought. "All right. My name's Kate." She pronounced it as CO-tay. "I'm fifteen. I'm an old friend of Viv's."

"Viv never mentioned he had a girlfriend," I said with my eyebrows knitted together. Hoping Kate wouldn't hurt me because of that comment, I quickly backtracked. "I mean—he never said he had a _friend girl—_ a girl that was… his friend. Yeah, he _did_ , but he would've said something about…"

"Oh, really?" Kate asked, raising an eyebrow. "Knowing him, he wouldn't. He probably forgot about me the summer after we met. Our fathers were co-workers and we hung out at their meetings."

 _Co-workers._ I remembered the mission file Zara gave us earlier. How long had it been since then? I shook my head. No, it had said something about _Help Earth_ teaming up with… what was it?

"You mean… the Scorpion Gang?" I asked.

Kate narrowed her eyes at me. "Scorpion Gang? No. They both worked for a finance company. At least, until my dad moved to work at a funeral place."

"A funeral place?" I said. "Your dad moved from _finance_ to _funeral?"_

"It was a smooth transition, mind you," Kate said, folding her arms. That action reminded me so much of Lauren that my heart hurt. But I only took a deep breath. If I kept making snide remarks at her, she wouldn't tell me anything.

"So… what was that funeral place called?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Dunno," Kate said unhelpfully. "He never told me."

"Your own father never told you the name of the company he worked for?"

"Never. Said it was really old, though. But that's about it."

I waited, then asked, "Hey… Kate?"

She looked up. "Hmm?"

"Are you a spy?"

Kate stared at me. "What, like 00-7? James Bond?"

I nodded as best as I could with being upside down. "Yeah. You been on any missions?"

Kate shook her head, and took a deep breath. "They're not called— _missions,_ James. It's just my family business."

"Like father, like daughter then?" I said.

Kate shrugged. "I guess you could say that. I once hacked the Pentagon and stopped an assassination attempt. But it's not much. I'm just the distraction."

"Distraction?" I asked.

"Yep," Kate sighed. "Just the pretty face to get the spies to talk."

My face went white. "What—what do you mean—?"

"You've been played, James," Kate said hardly. She rolled up my pant leg to reveal a bandage, then took out a needle from her pocket.

I raised my head up off the floor. "What are you doing?"

But Kate only rolled up the fabric farther to expose my skin above the bandage.

" _Kate!"_ I wailed, out of sheer desperation more than anything.

If Kate heard me, she didn't show it. Instead, she pricked me with the needle right above the bandage.

I howled. It shouldn't have hurt that bad, and I knew it. The needle must've been tipped with poison.

Kate went over to crouch next to me, cupping her hand to my chin. "Don't look so sad, James," she told me. "It'll kick in soon."

And that's when I _knew_ there was poison on the needle. She traced the side of my face with it, then tucked it into a napkin. Folding it expertly, she slipped it into her pocket.

"Sweet dreams," she called, as she left me to my world that was quickly growing dark.

When I woke up again, I had absolutely no idea what had happened. All I knew was that there was a sour taste in my mouth and I was sitting in a white room.

Then, the events of previously came rushing back to me. Kate. She was a maniac! How could she have done this to me? _Aaaarrrrgggghhhh._ She had to be linked with Help Earth somehow, or that Scorpion Gang—SCORPIA. But which one?

I swore. These spy organizations, making these things so much more confusing than they needed to be.

All of a sudden, the wall to my left slid open. A man walked through, with black army boots and a crisp black jacket with matching pants. He had stubble on his face and smelled like shaving cream.

"James!" he exclaimed, and I recognized the voice of the antagonistic man before who had first captured me. "Wonderful you've decided to join us! Absolutely _spiffing,_ really. And here I thought my daughter had gotten too carried away with the poison." He chuckled softly.

I glared. "Kate is… your _daughter?"_

"Mmm-hmm," the man said distractedly, straightening the cuffs of his jacket.

"Who do you work for?" I asked forcefully. "Tell me now!"

The man looked up. "Oh, but James," he said, "I can't do that. I'm afraid you already know way too much."

"This is about my mission, isn't it?" I said. "With that other agent? You know all about it?"

The man smiled patronizingly. "It seems we have underestimated you as the expendable MI5 agent who is too egotistical for his own good. You've kept yourself from getting as small-minded as the others, boy."

I crossed my arms across my chest. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

The man turned his head to face me. " _You_ can state the obvious."

He walked out.

Angry, I scrambled to my feet. A burst of pain shot up both of my legs, but I saw that my bandages were still intact. They needed me alive for this, I knew. But they weren't going to hesitate to get me injured.

I limped painfully towards the empty wall, and crossed to a carpeted control room with people at computers, typing away and speaking into headsets.

I spotted the man at the other side of the room. "What is this place?" I asked him.

"These people are not allowed to speak to you," he said. "Not unless they get clearance from a person on a higher rank. You'd understand that, wouldn't you? Seeing as the background you come from isn't very nearly as inviting as others."

I gritted my teeth. So, this fiend knew about campus. How much other information did he know?

"Why can't they talk to me?" I said.

"You're not wearing a headset," the man said simply.

"Neither are you," I pointed out.

"Oh, contraire," he said knowledgeably. He pointed to the inside of his ear. "Earpiece."

I nodded. "Oh, that makes _all_ the sense now."

The man chuckled again. "You know, there's something about you, James," he said, "that really makes me not want to kill you."

I stopped.

And yet, that sentence had started out _so_ average, like what a normal person might say. But the end had certainly escalated the situation.

"Kill me?" I spluttered. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Ah," the man said, "the question is not 'why' would we want to do it, but 'why not.' You've been a threat to us for years now—"

"But so have other agents!" I interrupted. "Just because I've _helped_ to piss you guys off, doesn't mean I've done the whole thing. See, there were my friends—"

But the man held up a hand. "Leave your explanations for later, James. All things have been accounted for."

I crossed my arms. "I doubt that."

"You do, do you?" the man asked. "We have put together a brilliant plan that a child like yourself could not even begin to comprehend. Every calculation is accounted for, every scenario established, every situation thought of." He poked his finger on my chest and pounded it for every word he spoke. "Every—last—hope—of—you—winning has crossed the minds of the lovely people before me."

I scowled, and swore at him. "You're a little piece of —, mister."

But the man only laughed. "Watch your language, Mr. Adams. The people I work with don't like people with dirty mouths."

"What's the worst they could do?" I said cockily. "Scrub my tongue with soap?"

The man sneered. "Oh they could do worse, James Adams. Much, much worse."

I woke up, shaking, in my bed. I looked outside, and saw that it was night. It'd—it'd all been a _dream?_

 **I bet you all hate me now. No worries! The only person who'll have to worry is our young CHERUB friend. And maybe our teen spy….**

 **Well, you'll just have to read the next chap to find out! (And I WILL update soon, don't choo worry about that)**


	5. The Million Faces of Death (Feat Alex)

**Here's chapter five! Yay :) I know, I know—the ONE time I say that I will update soon, I don't. I hope I make it up to you by having a little bit of…. Well, how about you find out!**

 **Disclaimer: WHATEVER FAMILIAR THINGS YOU SEE HERE DO NOT BELONG TO ME.**

Chapter 5: Alex

That was the thing about death. It had a million faces. It was always going to catch up with you, when you least expected it.

Or, when you most expected it and it was going to chase you off a cliff.

Whoever said that death was something no one could predict is someone I'm going to have to slap upside the head.* I was getting really tired of this. _No, Alex, it's okay, Alex, you'll be fine, Alex. You'll escape, Alex, just like you always do, Alex!_

If I could only keep telling myself that.

I had no idea who was chasing me. Remember how I said that death had a millions faces? This really did. It had the face of Dr. Grief one moment, then Herod Sayle. And General Sarov, Damian Cray, and even—I suppressed a shudder—Yassen Gregorovich. He stared at me with his cool, emotionless eyes, and continued in hot pursuit. And then it changed to Julia Rothman, smiling at me sickly through the forest trees.

I pounded through the bramble and the rough ground, the twigs and sharp thorns tearing at my bare feet. I was going to be a bleeding mess when I was through with this.

That was when I saw the cliff.

It overlooked a river, but I could only know so because the sun glinted off a shiny surface. Besides that clue, I couldn't see a thing. Why did this have to be so high up? I wasn't usually bothered by heights—heck, I'd thrown a top-notch assassin out of a hot air balloon before! (Actually, he was second-best, and he also had a fear of heights, but I'm counting it because he had two freaking _samurai swords_.)

But the cliff still bothered me. It overlooked the barely-visible river, which was a frightening thing on its own, but I was thinking ahead. There was plan A:

Jump off.

Fall to my death.

Get squished to a pulp.

Wind up dead on the shore of some distant island in the Caribbean.

 _Well,_ I thought bitterly, _At least Alan Blunt and Mrs. Jones couldn't reach me there._ I shuddered. Or could they?

However, there was always a plan B:

Wait for my pursuer to catch me.

Take it like a man and start insulting them.

Wait for them to make a mistake.

And push _them_ off.

Plan B was starting to look like the better option, when I heard a crack from behind me. I gasped. They couldn't be here already! But it was only a rabbit, bounding through the bushes.

I stared after it as I lost it in the forest trees. An animal so harmless could mean so much fear.

I didn't have much time to think about the rabbit, however, because my pursuer chose that moment to materialize by my side.

I jumped, and swore. "What the—?"

"Surprised, Alex?" It still had Julia Rothman's face. Her lip curled, and I remembered the exact way it used to when she knew she had me cornered.

My stomach dropped.

"You will never escape us," she told me. "We're always here. We're a lingering nightmare, never leaving you, always persisting to cause you as much pain as possible." She stepped closer to me, ripping an entire tree out of the way like it was nothing.

I stopped cold. Who _was_ this monster?

The monster with Julia Rothman's face took one last look at me. "The end isn't near, Alex," she said sweetly—if a death sentence could sound sweet. "The end is _here."_

And then I was falling, not knowing if she'd pushed me off or if I'd jumped of my own accord. But it didn't matter—I didn't know which way was up, or which was down. The sky and the ever-nearing water were both blurs of blue spinning around me.

How was I supposed to survive this?

In all of that chaos, one thing Mrs. Rothman had said stuck in my mind.

" _The end isn't near, Alex. The end is_ here."

I woke up, gasping. Air, air, clean air, filling my lungs faster than I could compute. But how it felt so _good._ I was giddy on the taste of it.

And then my vision came into focus. I was lying on a gurney, in some kind of van. Was it in the middle of the night? I couldn't tell. The last thing I remembered was going to sleep in my regular bed, some time after ten thirty. Surely it was past then.

I remembered the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I drifted off to sleep, my normal alarm bells of suspicion ringing. I tried to push it away— _you're not going to die, not here in London,_ I told myself firmly—and that was when I realized that it'd been page _forty-two_ I'd had to do in maths! I'd done twenty-two and thirty-two! I'd gotten up, flipped my maths book open, and stared at page forty-two.

I saw the numbers filled in, and thought back to the time that I had, in my boredom one day, turned to a random page in my maths book and started to work on the problems, which were surprisingly easy. I collapsed back into bed, relieved.

But I realized now that the sneaking suspicion _hadn't_ been about my maths. It hadn't been about school at all.

Someone had been by my house tonight. I was so angry I wanted to kick myself. How could I let this happen? Jack wouldn't be happy with me that I'd gotten myself kidnapped. _Again._ After Africa with McCain —

"Bad dream, Alex?"

I turned to see a man sitting on a stool, smoking a cigarette. He wore an expensive-looking suit with a Rolex watch on his left wrist.

"You know, in my day, kids your age wouldn't have nightmares still," he said knowledgeably. "But… I suppose this era is a little _different._ For one, you can smoke inside of a moving vehicle. Two, well it goes without saying the dangers of a child spy."

I didn't know how to respond to that. My face burned hot with rage. "Oh, of course sir," I said, my voice dripping sarcasm, "I still find it mind-blowing to find you can smoke a cigarette inside of a—what is this? A van? A bus?" As best as I could, I snapped my fingers. "I've got it—it's a dump truck. I feel bad for the driver. He's got a _load_ to take out tonight."

The man looked at me with loathing etched on every part of his face. "I admire your optimism, Alex, really I do. But it just won't work tonight. You see, I've got a plan. A plan that will take you out and from our lives forever."

I tried to move my arm, but found that it was strapped down by some sort of Velcro. Splendid. I blinked at the man. "Could you make that clearer, sir? You say _you've_ got a plan—you, as in the singular form—but then you say it'll take me out of _our_ lives forever. Who's the other guy? College roomate? Old next door neighbor? Weapons trader with big money and a lot of casualties to his name?"

The man laughed. "Closer on the last one, Alex. A powerful colleague."

I fidgeted with the Velcro straps. "Am I correct you won't let me out of this?"

The man pointed to me. "Bingo." He sat back and watched me with interest.

I quirked an eyebrow. "You waiting for something there? Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but in my current state I can't run and do cartwheels for you."

The man folded his hands contentedly. "That's not what I want, Alex. I liked watching you sleep."

I almost choked on air. "I appreciate the feedback."

The man stood up and sighed. "No, you don't. Look at me now. There you go. Focus."

I blinked. What was he playing at? The man was nearing closer and… this was _not_ very comfortable, thank you very much. The smiled at me and put his hand over my eyes.

"Tired, Alex?"

His voice was floating from somewhere above. I hated not being able to see. I gritted my teeth, and tried to shake his hand off.

"It's exhausting, isn't it? Do you know who would appreciate you taking a rest, Alex? I think I would. And some of my friends from my organization. Take deep breaths now. There. Shhhh…."

The spy smiled to himself, and slid his hand away. The boy's eyes were closed. Slowly, the spy slid his hand under his target's shirt, feeling his heartbeat and the slow rising and falling of his chest. Perfect.

What he had said before wasn't a lie. He did like watching the boy sleep.

It was simply fascinating.

I sat up. I felt chills creeping up my spine. What had happened? Where was I? Where was the man? I looked around, and realized that I was in my bedroom. Everything looked perfectly normal.

What was the man playing at? Was this some sort of game?

I bit my lip.

Had I dreamed the whole thing?

 **It's been too long! I know, I know…. But I've recently entered a short story of mine into a contest, and it had been my birthday—WOO-HOO!—and my family and I have just started to realize that I may have OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder). Fun.**

 ***Obviously, I mean no harm to the person who ACTUALLY made up this phrase. :)**

 **REVIEW! Q for you guys and some food for thought: Alex and James were BOTH given some sort of drug... What could it be doing to them? Why do they think they're dreaming? Tell me what you think! :)**


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